


Communication Is Key

by Behind_The_Hood



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Denial of Feelings, Fake Flirting, Fake Friends, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Happy Ending, Interrupted Hookup, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Martha And Alfred Just Want Their Boys To Be Happy, Meddling Parents, Mutual Pining, fake hookup, hip injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:07:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22216783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Behind_The_Hood/pseuds/Behind_The_Hood
Summary: "Alfred and I heard what happened tonight. Through the comms," she says, a smile on her lips. She squeezes his hands. "I think you should talk to Clark about it. I think you'll like the results."
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Martha Kent & Alfred Pennyworth
Comments: 7
Kudos: 345





	Communication Is Key

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brenda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/gifts).



> Superbat Exchange piece is finally up! Good Lord this took forever for me to get to! Happy Exchange Brenda! I hope you enjoyed this!

“Wha—”

Clark grabs his tie and pulls him in, his lips catching Bruce’s in an urgent press. He hops on the desk and spreads his legs and slips Bruce effortlessly between them. Bruce puts his hands to Clark’s hips more for balance than any semblance of intimacy. But the ruse is a clever one, because when Lex opens his office door not two seconds later, Bruce has already melted against Clark’s form, eyes closed and kissing back with a surprising passion.

They look like nothing more than lovers lost in one another, albeit in someone else’s home.

Lex clears his throat, and Bruce and Clark break apart. Clark’s cheeks are pink and his breath is a little rushed. Bruce’s tie is still rumpled in his fist where he’d pulled Bruce forcefully against him.

Bruce looks over Clark’s shoulder to Lex, the man’s eyebrow raised but eyes not entirely surprised. “Am I interrupting something, Brucie?”

Bruce smirks, tightening his grip on Clark. Predatory and possessive. “Well, now that you mention it—”

Lex gives a sharp sigh, stepping aside. “ _Not_ in my office.”

Clark clumsily shifts from Bruce, knocking a picture and a cup of pens off of Lex’s desk in the process. He leans down like he might pick them up, then falters and backs out of the motion, mutters an apology, and slips out of the room. He spares a glance to Bruce over his shoulder, then continues on back the way to the party.

Bruce and Lex both watch him go.

Once he’s seen Clark disappear down the hall, Lex comes all the way into the room, closing the door behind himself. “Tired of the reporters in Gotham, have you?” He sits at his desk, ignoring the picture and pens for the moment, eyes on Bruce.

Bruce’s smirk only grows, and he tucks his hands into his pant pockets. “What can I say? I like to indulge in a taste of what other cities have to offer from time to time.”

Lex steeples his fingers and hums. “And my office is where you opted for your latest tryst?”

He only offers a shrug before taking an obvious look around the room. Truthfully, he’s scanned the entire area, found it overly spacious and ostentatious, but his own office at Wayne Enterprises is similar in style, but maybe it’s a little much for the home office. Regardless, he’s more interested in the papers Clark slipped away with on his way out.

“Kent’s caught my eye. Can you blame me for wanting him alone?”

Lex sighs again now, though more resigned than before. “Just go, Bruce. There’s no reasoning with you where your libido is concerned.”

Bruce grins and leaves, sending Lex a parting wink as he closes the door.

* * *

When they return to the manor nearly two hours later, not a word of the kiss has been mentioned. Hardly a word has been mentioned at all. Clark hasn’t even looked at Bruce since they met back up downstairs. Bruce tries to reason that Clark only did it to save their cover. So if Clark doesn’t think it’s worth discussing, Bruce isn’t going to force the matter.

Why bother, over something evidently inconsequential?

Bruce and Clark head to the cave, the walk there as silent as the hour long car ride had been.

Alfred and Martha are both down there, talking quietly over cup of tea. When they look over at Bruce and Clark, both their eyes are alight with a type of mischief Bruce is only used to seeing shine in his kids’ eyes. He’s immediately suspicious.

“Hey, Ma.” Clark floats over to Martha, lying on a sickbed. He hugs her and places a kiss on top of her head. “How’s your hip feeling?”

Alfred meets Bruce at the computer, a steaming mug of coffee in hand. He passes it to Bruce. “I trust everything went according to plan?”

Bruce’s eyes cut involuntarily to Clark, still talking quietly with Martha about her injury. “Mostly.”

Alfred raises a brow. “Sir?”

Bruce shakes his head, turning to the computer and logging in. Several dozen pages are already open, all pertaining to a case Tim has been working on—and one YouTube video open in the corner with a cat compilation video paused halfway through. Bruce huffs a breath, warmth filling his chest. He’s sure he knows which of his children had been watching that.

He tries not to think about that same warm feeling in his chest earlier in the night.

He minimizes all the pages so his boys can come back to them later.

“Clark,” Bruce calls. He feels Clark’s heat at his side a second later, their arms nearly touching. Without a word, Clark passes the papers over to Bruce.

They work in their perfected synchronization, around and with each other, effortlessly. They get the pages scanned into the computer, manage a special call in to Selena about having the papers returned during the night, and discuss the possible repercussions of what the plans themselves could mean for Superman and Metropolis as a whole.

It’s many hours later before Alfred eventually speaks up from his and Martha’s spots over in the medbay. “Master Clark, if you might join me in the kitchen, I would appreciate help in bringing down something to eat, as it seems the night is to wear on into the morning.” He says this with a flat, pointed look sent Bruce’s way.

Before Bruce can protest, Clark is already out of his chair. “Sure, Alfred. I hadn’t even realized how late it was getting.”

Alfred smiles, then they ascend the stairs.

Bruce watches them for only a moment, then turns to Martha. She smiles as him, holding her cup of tea between aging, scarred hand.

He stands and comes to join her, sitting in the chair Alfred previously occupied. “I know Clark’s already asked, but how’s your hip doing?”

She sets down her cup and takes Bruce’s hand, folding it between both her own. “It hurts, but Dr. Thompkins did a wonderful job.”

Bruce nods, offering a smile. “And I’m sure Alfred has kept up with your medications.”

Martha chuckles. “Yes. He’s very punctual.”

That familiar warmth returns.

“Bruce.”

Bruce looks up into Martha’s eyes, warm and loving. A mother’s eyes.

“Alfred and I heard what happened tonight. Through the comms,” she says, a smile on her lips. She squeezes his hands. “I think you should talk to Clark about it. I think you’ll like the results.”

Bruce drops her soft, scrutinizing gaze, then drops his head. He squeezes her hand, and he can admit to himself that he feels a little insecure as far as this conversation is concern. “He was just protecting our cover,” he reasons, repeats again and again in his head. Because that’s really all Clark had been doing. He’d only hurt their friendship to read any further into it.

“I know my son, Bruce,” Martha tells him, drawing his eyes back to hers with a gentle touch to his chin. “Just like I’m coming to know you.”

Bruce isn’t sure of the last time his chest felt this tight, his throat his raw. Maybe…maybe she’s right.

As though she could read his thoughts plainly on his face, Martha smiles once more. “Talk to him.”

* * *

“I kissed Bruce.”

Alfred smiles, cutting another sandwich in half. “Yes, we heard.” He places the halves on the platter in Clark’s hands.

Clark doesn’t speak for a moment, and Alfred lets the silence eat at the young man as he stews over what to say next. It doesn’t take nearly as long as it might with Bruce. “It seemed like he liked it more than…but Bruce hasn’t said anything about it.”

“And at this rate, Master Clark, he never will.”

They continue in a stunted silence. Alfred can practically hear the gears turning in Clark’s mind. Alfred is well aware of the longing the two young men share for one another, but he is also well aware that Bruce is a creature of comfort. His relationship with Clark is one of the few stable facets within his life, and he wouldn’t risk rattling the foundations unless he could be assured of a positive outcome.

“I’ll talk to him about it,” Clark says after another long moment.

Alfred smiles again. “A wise decision, Master Clark.”

* * *

Clark joins his side once he and Alfred return. He fidgets, picking at the button on his cuff. They’re still half-dressed from Lex’s dinner party, divested of their jackets and ties but little else. Bruce watches this for a moment, then glances up into Clark’s eyes.

Brilliant, alien blues, shining with anxiety.

“Clark…” Bruce says, whispers. God, he hopes the longing he hears is just his imagination. He clears his throat, shifts his gaze back to the computer screen, the blinking cursor. “I was hoping to have a word alone with you.”

He can see Clark nod from his peripheral. “Would this have anything to do with…what happened tonight?”

Bruce swallows. He tries very hard to keep his expression neutral, his fists from curling. “Yes.”

Clark sighs. “Bruce, if what I did makes you so uncomfortable, we can pretend it didn’t happen,” he hears over the pounding of his heart. “It saved our cover and it doesn’t have to mean any more than that.”

It…It _could_ be that simple. Their friendship would be spared. Nothing would change.

With many different, conflicting emotions, Bruce turns to Clark, notes the frown on his face, the sorrow in his eyes. “What if I want it to mean more?”

Then he sees the upturn in Clark’s lips. His lush, pink lips. The lips he’d kissed for the first time not a day ago.

The lips he cannot stop himself from kissing now.


End file.
